The streets of little Turkey (3)

The pitch of a two propeller plane’s buzz lowered quickly as it pulled up from Tempelhof airport. Just about hundred meters above the houses along the Lufthafenstrasse it turned east-northward and slowly disappeared. Roberto was briefly distracted by the deep humming in the sky, he looked up but quickly his eyes followed a group of three grayblack pigeons, that flapped their wings in a spastic frequence, giving their flight from the gutter a quick jumpstart. At the horizon the hazy silver boll of the Radioturm with its red-white spire towered eternally above the city.

A mother, veiled in a white hajib and plain gray jilbab, pushing a perambulator in front of her, while her two other toddlers hurried a few meters later after her. The mother payed little attention to her toddlers, strolling ahead in a bored pace. Every few seconds she stopped and turned her face in a sudden annoyance, bellowing at her toddlers.

‘Assalaamu Alaikum,’ Berk greeted the owner of the little shop down Mainzerstrasse.
‘Alaikum assalaam,’ the neighbour greeted him.
The screeching sound of tires on the asphalt of an accelerating car sounded in the distance.
‘May God spare us! These young kids… !’ Berk gesticulated, waiving his hand in the air.

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